Home, Sweet Home
by Seth'sInsatiableFaggot
Summary: From the Wammy's House, to the LA mafia, all the way to the church in Nagano - Mello's POV. Rated M for later content.
1. Prologue

**Alright, KingofthePocky here again with yet another shitty tale. This one took me an hour to write over 3,000 words with just six pages. Yeah, maybe I need a life. Maybe. But, a few of my friends _demanded_ (yes, demanded. They threatened to kill me if I didn't post this and no doubt they're reading this now, so if I disappear, and only bloodstains remain, you know who killed me. Bastards.) I haven't written in my usual style this time, so I'm not really confident with this. It's first person, and it is a little out of character at times. But hey! It is Mello after all, and I'm not Mello. Obviously.**

**Now I'm going to shut up as I've run out of things to put here, and I also want to just skip ahead to the story. As always, I beta my own works, so I don't think there's any noticable mistakes. So, flames are appreciated and whatnot. I don't even care any more.**

**Oh, a side note to a certain reader who goes by the name NateFate RiderSpider. I know where you live, Nate, and I know where you sleep. And you owe me that drawing, and a cup of coffee. No, make that four cups of coffee. Hop to it.**

**-KingofthePocky**

**Prologue**

My past is my own, and we need not discuss all of it here and now. However, I will do you readers the courtesy of knowing my name – my real name, not the one I spent most of my life hiding behind – and a few things about where I grew up, a friend I made, and the events that led up to my death.

You see, dear reader, when I was first brought to the orphanage for gifted youths known as Wammy's House, I was brought there with the name of Mihael Keehl.

An unusual name at that, but it marked me, defined me, gave me a way of identifying myself that belonged to me and me alone. The events that led to the death of my parents and that of my adoption to this orphanage are not something I wish to spend my time on, even if they were slightly relevant to my tale.

Suffice to say, I was born, I lost my parents in a raging fire, – the cause of it, however indirectly, being yours truly – the owner of Wammy's House, Mr Quillish Wammy himself collecting me from the ruins of our home, sweet home to take the quivering ball of tears to his orphanage.

Did it end there? Did I spend the next eight years waiting for a family to adopt me as their own?

No.

That is not something Mihael Keehl, _Mello_, would do.

It is not something that I did.

I fought and fought, kicking and screaming until the day I died. Of course, those few readers who do know the man belonging to this name, they'd probably be chuckling about how stubborn I am.

But here I am, losing track of this story's path. I should probably warn you, I do have an awful tendency to get sidetracked. I blame my redheaded friend for that, corrupting my mind and soul.

In every sense of the word.

Nevertheless, my life changed drastically when I was brought to Wammy's House. It was no ordinary orphanage, where the children wait – albeit hopelessly at times – for a loving and caring family to take them away. No, it was an orphanage for the smartest and most talented children from across the world. We were there in a futile battle to become the next L – the successors to the greatest detective who ever lived.

I was one of the few orphans to meet L as L. I doubt that my rival, Near, ever did, and I partly hope that this information annoys him. If it's even possible for him to feel that emotion, of course.

So all we did was study in our respective fields, that child learning about medicine and doctoral studies, with the next child learning about technology and engineering. While not all of these children would ever join the race to become L's number one successor, the majority of these orphans would become the owners of big-name companies, or investigative bureaus around the world.

Not all of us were lucky enough to be chosen as L's successors, those few who were became permanently flawed, beings created in the largest shadow one could ever hope to fill. It drove one child, A, to suicide, whose death in turn drove the elusive murderer Beyond Birthday – the man behind the Los Angeles B.B. Murder Case, mind you – insane.

The first generation of the Wammy's House children.

The flawed generation.

The broken generation.

By the time I was ten, I had risen up the ranks to become number two, second in line to L's legacy – beaten only by that albino freak, Near. My room mate, Matt, had managed to become the third successor even though he never even tried. I know I never give him credit, or even acknowledge just how brilliant he is, but just this once, I shall give him the credit he is due.

I was good, no doubt about it. I sauntered around the grounds dressed all in black, with a red and white rosary neatly tucked under my shirt. Matt, on the other hand, was the exact opposite to my chaos. Wherever I went, he would always be a few steps behind me, his goggled eyes focusing on some kind of hand-held video game. He was the only child from Wammy's who wasn't afraid to tell me when I was acting stupid.

Not that that happened often, alright.

But if he _somehow_ managed to survive the events leading up to our deaths – and I wouldn't put it past that redheaded gamer, always coming up with crazy schemes and such – and if he is reading this, Matt, I'm truly sorry, for what it's worth. I never once intended for you to get involved in all this madness and chaos, but I'm glad you stayed with me up until the end. Even after I blew myself up, you never once left my side.

Thank you, Matty.

But enough sentimentality. The point of these notes is not to apologise to everyone who I brought into this mess, or to point fault with how they all acted. This is merely a record, from the day I left Wammy's to the day I died, as cheesy and as overused as it sounds.

While I did not die at the hands of that dastardly murderer, Kira, I still hold him to blame for the entirety of events. He cheated. Even though I cheated as well, he was able to kill people just by writing their name in a notebook while thinking of their face. How egregiously _unfair_ to the rest of us.

I feel I must warn you though, reader. My life was not a pretty thing once I left our home, sweet home, Wammy's House. I killed, I lied, I stole, I cheated...

I sinned.

I sinned _a lot_.

They say that to be forgiven for your sins, all you have to do is repent. Not once in my life did I ever contemplate repenting for my sake. For Matt, I would. Aware of my sins, aware of the price that would have to be paid – that's how I lived my life.

Hah. Who would've thought that within the blackened, ice cold heart of the LA mafia's second in command there rested a spark of humor.

Hell, maybe I'm just the human-shaped embodiment of witticism. I wish. I was never the funny one. That honor belonged to my dear Matty.

Again, enough with the sentimentality. I'm sorry for the shit I caused and for the deaths I wrought, with my hands or with the hands of others.

Now onto the story.


	2. Chapter 1

**Oh goody. Chapter 1, up in the same day as the prologue. I have Chapter 3 written, but I'm still touching it up. So I'll post it soon, don't panic. NateFate, you said you wanted me to post this ASAP, so enjoy it.**

**-KingofthePocky**

**Chapter 1 - Leaving our home, sweet home**

Shall we start from the day the top three Wammy's House children found out that the great detective L died? Yes, that sounds good to me. The Wammy's caretaker, Roger, had called Near, Matt and myself into his office some time at the end of the day, around late afternoon. It was raining heavily outside what could only be called a manor when I opened the heavy wooden door to his office.

Near was sitting on the floor in his usual position, his left knee tucked up under his chin while his right rested on the rug beneath him. He remained perfectly still and attentive only on the blank puzzle before him, slowly clicking in the pieces with almost no effort. I noticed that Matt was absent from the room – probably in his room under his blankets playing a video game of some kind while the dim light reflected off his goggles.

"What is it, Roger?" I asked the old man seated on the far side of the desk, his hands folded in front of his chin. He paused for an unbearably long moment and remained gazing almost sadly down at his desk,. I could see my own face mirrored in the glass of his spectacles, perched precariously on his beak-like nose.

"L is dead." those three words struck me to the bone and I felt my jaw drop. L... Was dead. Had he chosen a successor yet? Had he... chosen me? Or Near... I wanted to know. No, I _had_ to know.

"Dead?! W... Why..." I stumbled over my words in my haze-like shock. Not only did I need to know who his successor was, but I admit I was terribly curious as to who could kill the greatest detective alive. The infernal click, click, click of Near's puzzle was the only sound in the room aside from my heavy breathing. "Y... You mean Kira killed him? Is that what you mean?!" I slammed my fist onto his desk, causing Roger to jump slightly, his gaze still focussed on the wooden surface of the table.

"Probably." he mumbled, keeping his eyes averted as I leaned over the desk. I was so close to his face that I could smell what he'd eaten for lunch. A strong hint of lettuce, tomato with bread. As focussed as I was on L's death and the question of his successor, I noticed everything in the room, every tiny detail. My eyes widened and I grabbed the collar of his coat, pulling him up to look into my eyes.

"He said that he would make Kira face the death penalty but he was killed instead... Is that what you're saying?!" I demanded in an almost growling fashion, my low voice showing just how furious I was.

"Mello..." he said as I gave a light shake to his collar. We both froze at the sound of dozens of puzzle pieces falling onto the rug.

"If you cannot win the game, if you cannot solve the puzzle, you are just a loser." the quiet feminine voice interrupted from behind us, the voice I knew belonged to Near. I turned my head slightly to look at him, my rage beginning to simmer within me.

"So between Near and me, which of us did L pick?" I let go of Roger and moved my hands away to grip the edge of the desk, as if it was the only thing tying me to this room. His silence confirmed the sly thought nagging at the back of my mind. Perhaps... _Perhaps L died before he could choose one of us to succeed him!_ The soft clicking of puzzle pieces resumed behind me and I narrowed my eyes slightly.

"Neither." he said softly, hesitantly raising his eyes to look up at me. "Since he died, he cannot pick any more." I froze for the second time that afternoon, my fingers tightening on the edge of the desk almost imperceptibly. "Mello... Near... How about it, the two of you combining your abilities..."

My lips twisted into what I can only assume was a look of absolute disgust. Me? Work with Near? Impossible. "Yeah, that's a good idea." murmured the albino boy behind me, his grey eyes still focussed only on his puzzle.

"That's impossible, Roger." I said quietly, my voice beginning to shake from how angry I was. "You know that Near and I don't get along well together... You're always calling us out." Always. I was always second. No matter how much I worked... No matter how much I struggled. A soft sigh escaped me and I felt my heart sink.

"It's okay Roger... The one who'll succeed L is Near." Roger blinked in surprise and looked up at me again, the clicking of pieces continuing behind me. "Unlike me, Near is cool and acts objectively, like he's solving a puzzle. I'll leave... From this institution as well." I turned away, my bare feet brushing over the woven rug beneath me.

"Mello!" he called as he stood up, the office chair skittering back onto the wood from the force.

"In any case, Roger, I'll be 16 soon." I shut the door behind me harshly and stalked off to my room. "I'll live my own way."

My own way...

I broke out into a sprint once I was well enough away from Roger's office, darting down the empty corridors to my room. Flinging open the door, I stepped over to my wardrobe and pulled out an empty backpack, the dark black material covered in a light coating of dust. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the blankets on Matt's bed fall back and a mop of tousled burgundy hair peeking out.

"Mells?" he murmured sleepily, his goggles pulled down around his neck. I paused in the frantic rummaging in my wardrobe and turned to look at him.

"Yeah, Matty. It's me. You were supposed to come see Roger with me, remember?" he cursed and sat up properly, throwing back the covers as he got out of bed.

"Shit... Sorry, I forgot. I was playing Pokemon again." he pulled his goggles off from around his neck and blinked in the darkness.

"It's fine." I sighed and sat down heavily on my bed, resting my head in my hands. "I can't do it any more. I can't just sit around here, studying and working while Near becomes L. I just can't."

A warm arm wrapped around my shoulders and I parted my fingers slightly, my ice blue eyes meeting emerald green. It shocked me as he very rarely showed his eyes to anyone, so this made me hesitate. "Matty..." I began, brushing a lock of blonde hair out of my eyes.

My redheaded friend shook his head and wrapped his other arm around me, holding me tight against his chest. "You're leaving, aren't you?" he sighed once I nodded, lifting my hands to clutch at his striped shirt. "I'm coming with you."

I looked up at him and opened my mouth to protest, but before I could say anything I felt his warm lips press against mine. Wait... What? Did he... He just... My mind was fragmented. I couldn't think. I could only press my lips up against his.

He smiled against me and pulled away. At least, I think it was a smile. I internally shook my head to clear away my hazy thoughts and looked at him again. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time now, Mells." he murmured.

_Smack_.

A heavy thud followed the sound of skin on skin – the sound of my palm hitting his face hard enough to knock him back onto the floor. "H... How dare you!" I growled, clenching my hand into a fist. "L just died, and all you can do is take advantage of..." I trailed off and covered my face again, shaking from rage once more.

"L died?" Matt's eyes widened from where he sat on the floor. My eyes swivelled to glare at him and his eyes widened. "You gotta be kidding... So that's what Roger wanted us for... Wait, lemme guess. He died before he could chose a successor and now you're planning to run away to fight Kira on your own."

As always, Matt knew everything that I felt without me even having to open my mouth. It was almost as if I had no privacy around him, with the way he knew me so well. Oh, wait. I did open my mouth, and that's when he kissed me, I thought angrily.

"God, Mello. Let's get going." he stood up smoothly, only to be met with my fist. The redhead crumpled to the floor again, winded this time.

"You are not coming with me." I said slowly, standing up in one swift movement. "You are going to stay here and study or I swear to God I will kill you right now."

Bingo. Right about then was when I started becoming the cold-hearted killer, the man with no mercy and no fucks to give. I wasn't even phased when he looked up at me, the way a kicked pup looks up at his master. It was almost pathetic.

He opened his mouth to speak and I slammed my foot into his gut, causing him to sprawl out on the ground. "If I have to say it again..." I threatened, stepping over him to grab my bag. Once I had shovelled a few changes of clothes into it and a few of my precious belongings, I pulled on a dirty white jacket and walked to the door. "Don't try to follow me, Matt. You'll be killed."

That was the last thing I said to him before walking out into the corridors, my hand clutching one of his game consoles.

A memento for all the good times we shared?

Something for this icy blonde boy to remember him by?

How about all of the above?


	3. Chapter 2

**Alright, it took me a while to work on this one, as Death Note goes through a time skip between Mello leaving the institution and going to Los Angeles, and I had to come up with my own filler. This chapter took me a lot of time to get it perfected, and then my writing program fucked up on me and I had to fix it. After nearly a month of waiting, I got it done. Woo! After this chapter, things start to get a bit darker as Mello joins up with the mafia soon and shit hits the fan. For now though, enjoy the leather, chocolate and the priest.**

**-IsnowtheInsatiableFaggot**

* * *

**Chapter 2 - I'll Live My Own Way**

Of all the things I've ever done, leaving Matt after saying those things... That was the hardest thing that I've ever had to do. I knew that the path I would take would be unpleasant and most likely dangerous, but I couldn't take Matt with me. He deserved much better than me.

God, that sounds terrible. I've had to do some very difficult things in the past, like...

No, no, no. Nononononono. If I tell you what I did this early, I might as well just skip to the end of the story, and that would make all of this a waste of time. And if there's one thing that I absolutely can't stand, it's wasting time. Let's just say that I've done plenty of bad things, but the hardest one to do was leave Matt after what I said.

The worst part was that I would have killed him if he tried to come after me.

I couldn't just threaten him like that and not follow through.

I knew from the moment I left Roger's office that I would have to leave, and that I would not be able to bring Matt with me. I know I hurt him. I know how he saw me, how he felt about me, and once I'd walked out of the gates into the rain, I thought about how he'd kissed me.

It _was_ unfair for him to take advantage of my confused and flustered state, but even so... I had enjoyed it. I hadn't pushed him away. But not only was it abnormal, I was Catholic. A relationship between two boys is a sin, isn't it? Not to mention that not only were we both boys, but I was almost sixteen and he was only a few months younger than me. We were far too young physically to get into all of that emotional baggage and it would only become a distraction to me in the long run.

I'll live my own way.

I never thought that would mean living alone.

Well, without Matt at least.

So when I walked through the massive gates that marked the edge of Wammy's House, it hit me just how hard my life was about to become. I pulled my jacket tighter around my small frame and stalked off down the road.

After hitching a ride into the city, the first thing I did was make my way to one of those internet cafes. I figured I could probably use my limited hacking skills to get some of the money out of my trust fund – something that each of the Wammy's House children receive on the day they leave the orphanage, something to help them get through their life. If I wanted to get out of Winchester and hunt down Kira myself, I'd need the funding to do it.

So after a series of events that I will refrain from writing here, as I classed hacking as one of my many sins that I do not want others to mimic, I walked away with my pockets full of money. To defeat Kira, I'd need to ally myself with one of the largest and most powerful organisations in the world. Would it be best to go for criminal syndicates such as the mafia or to work with the government agencies?

No, definitely not the government. If Kira snapped his fingers and growled at them, they'd crumble before him betray me without a moments hesitation. It'd be much better to go with an underground organisation like the mafia. With a cold gaze and an even colder countenance, I could work that to my advantage.

To join with the mafia, I'd need to go to one of the largest mob-run cities in the world. Los Angeles, California.

Land of the heat and Hollywood. Oh joy. The fun times I'll have there.

I made my way to the airport in Southampton and bought myself a ticket, ignoring the glances from the woman behind the ticket booth. What, is it really so odd for a fifteen year old kid to buy himself a plane ticket? Do I have to have an adult with me? What is with the adults of this era?

Anyway, I took my seat on the plane a few hours later next to a man in a suit, his briefcase resting on his lap. With a small sigh, I took out a bar of chocolate and ripped open the wrapper before snapping off a piece with my teeth.

"Hello there young man." he said, turning and plastering a fake smile on his face.

I gave him a curt nod and swallowed the piece I had snapped off, pausing to lick the broken edge of the chocolate. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the smile waver for a moment before coming back full force. Goddamn, what will it take to get this man to leave me alone?

"Where are your parents?" he asked as he brushed his raven hair off his face with the back of his hand. My teeth clenched and I snapped off another piece of chocolate. He wants me to talk to him? Fine.

"Burned to a crisp." I muttered.

"Ah... I see. What's your name?" As if I would tell him my name. This man has no idea just how intelligent I am. I could run circles around him with my logic.

"My name is Matt." he tilted his head slightly and turned to face me properly, causing me to sigh again. Why did I have to use _his_ name. His face was flashing before my eyes, as cliché as it sounds. A small part of me was beginning to ache, having finally realised just how dull my life would be without my redheaded friend.

"Short for Matthew or just Matt?" God, he can't shut up, can he? I shook my head and let my blonde bangs fall down in front of my eyes, leaning my elbows on my knees.

"Just Matt." What a foolish man. He never suspected a thing, even when Kira killed him a week later. The poor man who had sat next to me on my flight to Los Angeles had accidentally killed another man and was found guilty in court. Kira had taken it upon himself to kill this man with a heart attack. Just lovely, isn't it?

One man's view of justice is another man's crime.

"What a nice name, Matt. Do you have someone picking you up at the end of this flight?" he spoke slowly, as if he didn't think I was capable of understanding him if he spoke normally. I rolled my eyes internally and shook my head again. The rest of the flight went on like this, the man asking me pointless questions only to be answered with a small nod or a shake of my head.

Finally, the sun began to poke through the clouds, signalling the arrival of dawn. I yawned softly and ate the last piece of the chocolate bar I'd started minutes before. The raven haired man had fallen asleep about an hour ago after asking me if I had a girlfriend. I made a quick decision to visit a church once we landed and drummed my fingers on my thigh as I waited for the plane to come to a halt.

With a jolt, the man next to me sat upright and opened his eyes before grabbing his briefcase. Dammit, was I going to have to put up with another ten minutes of an endless tirade of questions? I hoped not. The plane came to a halt and I grabbed my backpack with one hand, unbuckling my seatbelt with the other.

As I shuffled my way out of the plane and into the airport, I wondered how I would contact the mafia. A few hundred pounds were converted into American dollars at a small booth and I pocketed the new cash, tapping my chin as I thought. I'd have to acquire some mode of transportation – I couldn't just hitchhike everywhere, after all.

A quick survey of the parking lot guaranteed my suspicions. I'd have to steal a car. I had already been given a fake drivers licence that was registered in America, so legally I was allowed to drive, but I'd have to pick a car and break into it. That was proven to be quite difficult. Few cars suited my tastes, and after a short while it became a choice of vanity. Would I look good in that Chevrolet over there or in that black convertible? Huh.

After about ten minutes of standing around munching on a bag of chips that I'd bought in one of the small stalls inside the airport, I dropped the empty bag into a trash can as my eyes alighted on the perfect vehicle for me. A Harley Davidson motorbike, probably a Nightster or some similar make. Perfect, right down to the black helmet that rested on the handlebars.

Another ten minutes later I was racing down the highway on the Harley, grinning like a maniac as I sped up to overtake a car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw myself reflected in the tinted windows of the car, a lithe body clothed in black straddling the shining motorbike, the few areas of the bike that were dripped in chrome glinting in the light. Damn, did this motorbike suit me. I let out a cry of pure joy and sped up again, darting in front of the car and onto the turnoff lane.

The steeple of a nearby church caught my eye once I raced into town, but I decided to put off going just yet. I had to get myself some new clothes to replace my old ones if I wanted to get anywhere near the mafia. One store stood out from all of the rest and I skidded to a stop out the front of it, nodding in satisfaction.

An hour later, I found myself standing outside the church I had seen earlier, clad in leather from head to foot. A black pair of tight leather pants hugged my legs tight, my midriff bared for a few inches above my waist until being wrapped in leather. The leather vest had a zip down the front that I pulled all the way up, leaving my rosary to rest against the front of the vest. A black leather jacket to replace my white one protected my shoulders from the cool air, my wallet shoved in the hidden pocket.

I tightened my fingers on the bar of chocolate I held in my gloved hand, the black leather shining mutely in the morning light. The large wooden doors seemed to loom above me but I let myself in anyway and made my way to the altar, letting my eyes wander over the pews.

"Young man, do you come here bearing a confession?" the warm, deep voice came to me from the pew at the very front; I'd not noticed the priest sitting there until he spoke. A slight nod of my head gained a smile from the old man, his features crinkling upwards.

"I do, Father." he went to stand once I'd finished speaking but I shook my head and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You don't need to get up. I seek penance from the Lord, yes, but I will confess to anyone who will listen."

The old man's eyes widened beneath his glasses in what I guessed was mild surprise, with a hint of admiration. "You are very wise, it seems, seeing as how you are quite young." his rich tone warmed me, pushing away the chill that I had begun to feel earlier.

A small smile graced my lips, a true smile that I hadn't felt since I left Wammy's House as I knelt before the priest. "Do you mind if I give you a little bit of a background history on my situation, Father?" I asked, one hand raising up almost unconsciously to cradle my rosary.

With a shake of his head, I began my tale – leaving out the major details that would come back to bite me in the ass if I spilt them, such as the name of the orphanage. When I had finished, the old man seemed to look at me in a new light; one that let me know he understood just how intelligent I was.

"So, you seek revenge for the untimely death of your predecessor and you want to succeed your competition?" What a simple way to put it, I mused.

"Yes, Father. He died an unjust death, and I seek to avenge him. As for my competition, this boy doesn't make any effort, it just comes naturally to him." I mumbled bitterly, the image of the albino boy floating before my eyes.

"My son, you'll find that you can truly be great in the future, even if you never overtake your competition." his words calmed me somewhat and I knew he was speaking the truth. "The one you left behind, do you ever wonder if that was a mistake?"

I gave a small nod as an acknowledgement and closed my eyes slowly, my grip tightening on the rosary. "Father, I thought we just shared the bond of friends, but it seems I have deeper feelings for him." I cursed inwardly once I finished speaking, mentally berating myself for revealing the nature of my feelings for Matt.

"So this boy, you love him?"

Such a simple question, such simple words. Shame the answer was nowhere near as simple.

"I do love him. He knows what I'm about to say before I say it, he can almost read my mind. But isn't it against our belief for two boys to be in such a relationship?"

The priest shook his head slowly and gave me another soft smile, his hands clasped together on his lap. "True, the Catholic church does typically frown upon same-sex relations, but we are emerging into a new era. I personally disagree with that belief, so do not worry, my son, I will not reprimand you for your feelings. If you truly love him and it is not merely a physical relationship you seek, then I'm sure the Lord would want you to be with the one you love, even if he is a boy." he chuckled quietly and leaned forward, placing his hand on my head.

"Go out and do whatever you must to avenge your predecessor, then go and make up to this boy if you find that you cannot live without him. If he is as smart as you suggest, you two would be able to form a bond that succeeds that of lovers." I raised my head up and opened my eyes, lowering my hand and letting the rosary fall back around my neck.

"Thank you, Father. Thank you for listening and for giving me your advice." I murmured, pulling out my wallet. "Please, add this to the collection plate for me. Put it to good use for me, Father." I held out a bundle of notes, probably a grand there.

The priest smiled again and took the notes from me, slowly getting to his feet. "There are times when I think that this generation's youth has begun to fail us; you have restored my hope in this world, my son." I bowed slightly before standing up.

"I cannot thank you enough. Goodbye, Father." with another nod to him, I made my way past the pews and out into the cool morning air of the California winter. "It will be Christmas soon." I mused, pulling on my helmet.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - Teenagers Scare the Living Shit Outta Me**

Walking down the crowded Los Angeles streets in the early afternoon proved to be an experience I never wish to repeat after being trodden on by men and women rushing back to work once their breaks had finished and people busy with their Christmas shopping. Flashing lights were draped over displays in store windows and glistening crimson and gold decorations adorned the cheap Christmas trees throughout the streets.

I had stopped in a small store to get something to eat and bought a ham and cheese sandwich, which I began to eat once I'd taken a seat on the edge of a fountain. My eyes roamed over the crowd as I ate, watching people prepare for the holidays.

We never celebrated Christmas as a religious occasion at Wammy's House, but we did give gifts to each other. One year I had given Matt the new game he'd wanted, one that Roger had refused to get his as it wasn't a game for children. I'd snuck out and bought it, returning to find Matt sneaking back in with a large box of chocolate.

It was, by far, the best Christmas ever.

I listened in to the conversations of the people around the fountain, fragments of conversations reaching my ears. This woman couldn't get the toy her child wanted, the father trying to cheer the disheartened child up. Eventually, the man wrapped his arms around the crying child and hugged her close.

That's when I turned away. I had lost my family, and as an exceptionally intelligent child from Wammy's, any chance of me gaining a family with someone outside of Wammy's would be unlikely. If I wanted a relationship with someone who could empathise with me, I'd have to restrict my options to one of the other children.

I finished the last of my sandwich and sighed, watching a trio of teenagers a few years older than me make their way over to the fountain where I was sitting. The leader had a denim jacket covering a faded shirt, his mild brown eyes staring at me from under the greasy, tangled mess of black hair.

A soft curse escaped my lips as the tallest of them reached me.

"Hey there, kid." he said, his hands fisted in the pockets of his jacket. The other two stood behind him, a girl with startlingly green eyes and a boy with dirt smeared over his cheek. I tilted my head slightly and thought for a moment, pondering whether or not to change my accent.

"What do you want?" I said eventually, my fingers idly moving over my rosary. A smirk crossed the leader's face and I sighed inwardly.

"I just thought I'd make a friend. What's your name, kid?" he asked.

What the hell. I might as well go by the name of Mello around these kids. If they told anyone, I doubt they'd have the connections or the ability to find out who Mello was.

"The name's Mello. You chose one hell of a person to befriend." I forced a grin and by the look on the girl's face, I knew it was a believable expression. With a flick of my wrist, I threw the wrapper from my sandwich at the leader's head, smirking slightly as he started.

"Hey, dude. You don't wanna be pissing me off so early." he muttered, narrowing his eyes at me. The girl behind him giggled and he turned to glare at her.

"The one you just attacked with the trash, his name's Pete. The chick next to me is Lye. I'm Oliver." he smiled and held out his hand, a few tattoos covering his skin. I shook his hand and he moved back, picking at a cut on his knuckle.

"So, blondie. You got a place to stay?" asked the girl, Lye. What an unusual name. Not that I'm one to talk.

I shook my head in response and looked at her. Her green eyes weren't anything surprising, but seemed more vivid due to the lack of color in her face, something that was accentuated by the obviously dyed black hair that hung loosely around her face.

"Lye, you ain't taking this one home." Pete glanced at her as he spoke and she nodded slightly, looking away. "Kid, you can stay with Oli. He ain't got anyone with him at the moment."

Oliver smiled at me again and looked back to the leader. "You dumping another guy on me? You do this every time." he rolled his eyes and winked at me. "Don't call him kid, either. He gave us a name."

Pete glared at him and I chuckled softly, getting to my feet. "Thanks, but I don't need a place to stay. I'm travelling a bit at the moment." the girl frowned and opened her mouth, closing it again once Pete waved a hand at her.

"Suit yourself. We're outta here." the leader turned and started walking, Lye scampering after him. Oliver wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to me, grinning.

"If you ever need somewhere to stay, call me. I work at a club nearby called the Crossroads." he murmured, waving at me before darting after the others.

I laughed quietly and shouldered my bag again, slipping the paper into my wallet as I started walking again.

Once night hit, there wasn't anything for me to do but find a place to spend the night, after I'd finished combing the Los Angeles underworld for a connection to the mafia. I figured I might as well check out the club that boy, Oliver, worked at. After a bit more walking, I finally came to the back alley club.

A headache had begun to flare behind my left eye, pulsing with every beat of my heart. I figured a drink or two would help numb the pain. I pushed open the door and was instantly hit with cigarette smoke, loud music and the smell of something I couldn't identify.

Fixing a grin on my face as I casually leaned on the bar, I ordered a triple tequila slammer and downed it in one gulp. Potent stuff, I might add. My eyes roamed over the dancers as I observed the bar. The Crossroads, a point at which a crucial decision is made. How ironic.

The moment I set the empty glass on the bar I was attacked by a tall man with ginger hair. No, attacked isn't the right word, but it's the only one I can think of to describe the way Oliver announced himself. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, grinning like a mad man.

"Mello, you finally decided to grace my club with your presence!" he laughed and squeezed my shoulder before letting go, giving me a chance to look over his attire.

"A suit? I never would have thought you'd be the kind of guy to wear a suit, _with a waistcoat, no less_." I teased, trying to ignore the painful memories of the other redhead that rose to the front of my mind.

"Ah, true, but I can't look this good all the time, y'know?" he waved a hand at the man behind the bar and took the drink offered, sipping at the glass. "It takes a lot of effort to do this all night."

I pulled a face when he offered me the glass, the strong smell of scotch wafting towards me. "One drink is enough for me. I'm actually looking for someone."

He rose an eyebrow and took another sip of his scotch, the scent of the amber liquid drifting through the air. "Well then, you've come to the right place. Who're you after?"

"I'm after someone with connections to the mafia." I murmured, leaning my elbows on the bar as I looked at him. "I have things I need to do, and I need to find a way into the mafia to do it."

Oliver nodded slightly and waved his glass at a man sitting at the end of the bar, empty shot glasses around him. "Talk to Dreads. He's part of the Nephilim gang, but he knows what's going on between each of the larger mafia gangs."

"Thanks." I gave him a small smile and moved past him. "If I ever need some help, I'll be back." With that, I made my way over to the man.

He turned his face to look at me, his dreadlocks hanging over his face – no doubt the source of his nickname. "Whaddaya want?" he asked, obviously trying to keep the slur out of his voice. "I'm not here to entertain you."

I kept my face carefully blank as I sat down next to him, resisting the urge to cover my nose and mouth with my hand. The smell of alcohol-ridden puke surrounded him, an overpowering stench that almost had me gagging. "I want information. Word is, you have it."

Dreads looked up at me again and knocked back another shot. "If ya want my info, ya gotta be able to pay." he laughed too loudly, his eyes looking me over.

Damn, that bastard's not just gonna want money, is he? I thought to myself, cursing the predicament I was in. Oh, well. If I wanted to know, I'd have to do what he wanted. Then shower in acid.

"Sure thing. I can pay." I smiled coldly at him, an expression that he must have taken as a flirtatious one. "I need to get into the mafia. Any of the large gangs will do."

He snorted in disdain and turned back to his line of drinks. "As if a kid like you could get into the mafia. Alright, I'll give you a little hint. Take out a rival mafia boss, and you'll find yourself getting into the mafia easily. If you live long enough to get that far."

"Then I need the location and name of a powerful mafia boss. Do you have that information, or do I need to take my services elsewhere?" I made if to get up, his hand grabbing at my arm.

"Fine, fine. You better make this worth my while. Scrawny kid like you is gonna get torn apart if you try to kill anyone." he laughed and let me go. Yeah, that shower in acid is sounding better by the minute, isn't it?

"All I need is information and then I'll pay you." I tilted my head to the side, looking at the sleeve of tattoos down his arm. "Give me the name and location of the rival boss, and I'm outta here."

He chuckled and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, scrawling something on it in nearly unintelligible handwriting. "Whatever. You're not old enough for me anyway. Here's the base and the leader's name."

I took the scrap and slipped in into my wallet after glancing over it. "If I find that you've lied to me..." I threatened, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Don't worry about it, kid. You'll find the guy. Question is, d'ya think you can kill him?" he waved a hand at the bartender who set two more shots on the bar in front of him.

Well, that was fun. Now for my shower in acid.

The block of apartments was by no means inviting and cozy. One glance made me wonder if there were really apartments here, or if it was just a crack house. I paid a week's worth of rent for a room and took the key, promising the manager that I'd pay every week.

Once inside the room, I dropped my bag on the counter and frowned, looking the place over. The mattress had stains on it from god knows what and I decided then and there that I'd be dead before I willingly slept on it.

The floor was no better, but I resigned myself to sleeping on my jacket. I'd have to buy a few things. Namely a bed and a microwave. From my brief glance into the kitchenette, I'd have to replace everything in there if I was planning on staying here for a while.

I took off my jacket and opened it out on the grimy floor, sitting down on it. This was my second day away from the institution, and I'd nearly sold my virginity to a random stranger for information. Roger had taunted me a few years ago about how I'd never be able to live on my own, that I'd always be dependent on someone else, and it was starting to seem as if he was right.

I had no idea what I was doing. I had to get into the mafia, and to do that I'd have to kill a rival boss. To do that, I'd have to have weapons and a strategy. To get the weapons, I'd need money and contacts. Now, that was the easy part.

With the amount of money I had in my possession and the money I could steal with my limited hacking skills, I'd certainly bypass any difficulty in that area. As for contacts, I understood people far better than Near, so I'd have almost no issues there. Greed is one of man's fatal flaws, so I could easily bribe my way around.

After I'd gained myself some new contacts – hopefully members of the mafia – I should be able to buy a few guns off the black market. Maybe a few basic shotguns, a pistol, and a sniper rifle just in case. Even Dreads might be able to help in that respect.

I really didn't want to have to deal with him if I could help it, and the crappy shower in the apartment did little to get his stench off me. It seemed to seep into my leather and even the shower I had barely got rid of it. All the more incentive to properly furnish the apartment, I guess.

My fingers found the rosary hanging around my neck as I sat down and I closed my eyes in prayer. I was never a conventional man, when it came to praying. I didn't ask for world piece, I didn't ask for god to end famine, I didn't pray for the homeless to find a house.

I prayed for Matt's safety. Cliché, I know, but that's all I wanted. If I died on my stupid mission to beat Near and all that shit, I wouldn't complain. I had accepted my eventual death long ago, never welcomed it, but I hadn't resented it either.

That was why I left the redhead behind, after all. He wouldn't last a day in my position. The fool would've gone with Dreads, just for a little information. He'd have to change his entire personality, just to survive. Not good, obviously.

I could be cold and ruthless in an instant, but he'd struggle to pretend. He just wasn't built that way. Woah, I managed to get sidetracked again. I digress way too much. Matt was _relatively_ innocent, and I use the term loosely, blah, blah, blah. You get it.

After a murmured 'amen' I tucked the rosary inside the leather vest and lay back on the jacket, using my arm as a pillow. Being scrawny is never a good thing in times like this. My temple was rested on my wrist, the bone digging into my skin. What I would give for my bed at Wammy's. Looks like I'd have to suffer my skinny limbs until I bought myself a bed that wasn't covered in stains from god knows what.

* * *

**Woah, long time no see, huh? It's been ages. Anyways, I'm working on chapter 4 for Home, Sweet Home, so you'll be getting that soon. Have patience, minions. I think I'm going to do a FANCYTIMESKIPTOTHEFUTURE and just continue on from when he goes off to eliminate the rival boss. I had originally planned for Beyond Birthday to make an appearance, but I changed my mind. He can have his own story. Anyway, the next chapter will be from when Mello goes off to the rival base and continues on from there. Reviews are always welcome~.**

**-Insatiable Faggot**


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